


Virus Factory

by BaaingTree



Series: Giant Robots [8]
Category: Original Work, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:38:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaaingTree/pseuds/BaaingTree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M.D. and Biff are pilots now, but they have no Jaeger. Then everyone catches the flu but still has to deal with a creeping, tentacled menace from the deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Virus Factory

This story is for [](http://ysabetwordsmith.livejournal.com/profile)[**ysabetwordsmith**](http://ysabetwordsmith.livejournal.com/), who requested a monster based on [the abyssal sea cucumber](http://i.crackedcdn.com/phpimages/article/0/4/7/3047.jpg?v=1).  It was sponsored by the general fund.  It's a [Giant Robots](http://baaing-tree.livejournal.com/444543.html#cutid7) fic, and it also covers my 'Take' prompt for Stuff100 and 'hospital stay' for Hurt/Comfort Bingo.  Happy Spookathon, everyone!

_Virus Factory_

 

The Anchorage Shatterdome, it turns out, is the perfect breeding ground for influenza.

Biff is one of the first to fall, spending a week vomiting and sweating in bed. He loses five pounds and has to take the bottom bunk because even with crutches and bad legs, M.D. can handle the ladder better than he can. This makes him an object of ridicule among the other Rangers… until they get sick too. Everyone does.

Except M.D. For the first time in her career, she’s the healthiest person in the Shatterdome.

“How’s it feel, being the sickly pathetic one now?” She asks, hanging her upper body from the top bunk.

Biff snuffles. “C’mere.”

“What?”

He grabs the front of her jumpsuit, pulls her forward. “I said c’mere.”

“Wait, what’re you—”

He explodes into a fit of coughing in her face.

“Wow, Biff. Thanks for that, you walking virus factory.”

Biff releases her shirtfront and slumps back on the pillows. The effort has completely exhausted him, but he’s smirking. “No problem.”

With the inevitability that comes of having a virus-riddled skeleton crew manning the Shatterdome, naturally a kaiju rises from the Breach a week later. And naturally, with all the places in the world available to it, it chooses to make for Juneau and Whitehorse.

Fortunately for everyone, this one is pretty pathetic, by kaiju standards. A Category I, with no spikes or claws or even a discernable head. It’s just a crawling blob with stubby tentacles, slugging across the ocean floor at low speed. It seems to embody how everyone in the Shatterdome feels, and with characteristic flair, Tendo Choi code-names it Lovecraft.

Of course, the Becket brothers are the ones who’re supposed to go out in a giant robot and stomp it. Biff and M.D. have been official pilots for six months, but they still don’t have a Jaeger.

Then Yancy gets pneumonia and ends up in the hospital.

M.D. tries not to get excited. Danger is the Beckets’ darling, but she’s been cooling her heels for months. Biff is healthier than Raleigh, and she’s healthier than the both of them. Surely this time, finally—

Despite all willpower and reputation, Marshal Pentecost is as sick as anyone else; he just hides it better. When he hears about Yancy, he closes his eyes for a moment and sighs. It rattles in his chest. He says to Biff, “Suit up. You’re piloting with Raleigh.”

M.D. can’t speak. Biff looks back and forth between her face and Pentecost’s for a moment. He goes, “Uh.”

Pentecost opens his eyes and fixes him with a bloodshot stare, and Biff rushes off to suit up. He manages to give M.D.’s hair a ruffle—sorry, he’s sorry—and then he’s gone.

M.D. watches him go.

…

  
Even by the freewheeling PPDC standard, it’s a fiasco. Raleigh and Biff can pilot together—barely. Their neural activity is all over the map, causing Danger to reel and sway like a drunken boxer, and they can’t get the plasma cannons to operate. Choi and Pentecost have to practically pilot the thing themselves, shouting orders and warnings and, “Left! Left! Other left!”

Good thing Lovecraft’s a Category I. Even then, it takes almost an hour to beat the tentacle-blob to death. It’s not at all glorious or thrilling, and Lovecraft makes horrible whimpering sounds like an abused puppy every time it’s hit.

Raleigh Becket is _furious_. M.D. can hear him shouting and cursing over the comlink, voice hoarse and croaky from the flu. He compares Biff’s piloting abilities to that of a black hole and a forklift. Choi and Pentecost are tired and put out and obviously just relieved that the fight ended without Danger or Lovecraft wrecking the Yukon.

Biff doesn’t say anything at all.

The post-battle write-up borders on a riot. Becket snarls at Biff, M.D. snarls at Becket, and they exchange barbs and complaints until Pentecost tells them both to shut up (in better language), and Raleigh stomps off to check on Yancy in the hospital. M.D. tries to speak, only for Pentecost to say that if he wanted her commentary, he’d ask for it, and then he turns his focus on the support staff: where is Biff and M.D.’s Jaeger?

That’s when M.D. realizes that Pentecost is as angry as she is. It’s just that he deals with anger by getting colder and colder and quieter and quieter.

The next fight is bureaucratic hot potato, budget analysts and engineers frantically trying to shift the blame. The PPDC is in a budget crunch. To get a new Jaeger, they need a government sponsor. To get a government sponsor, M.D. needs citizenship. To get citizenship… well. The only country who might is the USA, and that would be PR suicide. The Chinese government is willing to sponsor a three-pilot Jaeger, because the Weis are tactical geniuses, but Biff and M.D. aren’t rock stars. M.D. isn’t even able-bodied. She’s bound to die soon anyway, and nobody wants to spend that kind of money on a gimp. If Biff got himself a new co-pilot, maybe…

Biff says nothing. He doesn’t need to. Everyone saw him with Becket.

Marshal Pentecost’s voice by this point is a rasping whisper. He asks why engineering hasn’t just modded an existing Jaeger.

Hot potato, round two. Nobody wants to bother. It’d cost too much. Apparently making a giant robot is totally reasonable, but actually building a rig around M.D.’s legs is impossible. Again, she’s likely to die within five years of active duty, and nobody wants the cost-sink. Besides, the sockets in her head don’t interact properly with the latest models of the Pons System, they’d need a whole new OS, and—

And Biff says, “the Shitheap could do it.”

The discussion screeches to a halt. Everyone glares at Biff, personally offended to be reminded of the existence of Shitheap McLargeHuge. To suggest it could do anything better than a Jaeger…

Then the light bulbs come on.

“Whatever became of that prototype, anyway?” Pentecost asks.

Whakarea shrugs. “Sent to Oblivion Bay, I assume. There wasn’t much left of it.”

“Good.” Pentecost says. “Let’s salvage it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says finally. “But don’t expect much.”

M.D. grins. Biff betrays the barest hint of a smile, but she can feel his satisfaction and excitement strong as hers, even with the grip of the flu. They’re getting a Jaeger.

Well. Sort of. Eventually.

Good enough. And Biff will never have to co-pilot with Raleigh Becket again.


End file.
